Numbers
by The 162nd Warlord's Survivor
Summary: "Power in numbers will save us all. But it doesn't matter anymore. I'm done with numbers." But the battle is far from over. Nine of them came here. Now only five remain. With MogPro still lurking in the shadows, the Garde must again fight to end the last of corruption against Earth, while also struggling to save themselves and their old enemies from dying out forever.
1. Prologue

The scarred boy sinks his diamond dagger into the back of the woman's head and grimaces. He does this so often, killing members of a species he has worked so hard to protect. While the boy cannot see himself when he slits someone's throat or stabs into a skull, he can feel the black cloud of death he creates. With his gifts, he can hear their final thoughts, screaming from the open wounds like terrified children. The boy pulls back his scarf and touches the purple scar on his neck—it has begun to fade, but it is what connects him most to his long dead adversary.

 _Four down,_ the scarred boy thinks grimly as a red-haired agent appears from the dark alley and helps him with the dark body bag, _about fifteen hundred more to go._

The woman zips it up, her face stony when the dead woman's body abruptly materializes in the black bag. She collects two vials of Black from the woman's purse, and pulls free a vial of her own, pouring sulfuric acid into the Black, erasing it from its corrupt existence. When it's done, the woman smirks at the air, not looking at him, but at the space he was standing before.

"Good work, Smith," the woman says.

The boy pops into view a few feet away. He has stumbled away from her. There was a time nearly two years ago, where she would have given anything to capture and kill him. Now, they are partners in the FBI. He was practically handpicked by the red-haired agent when he volunteered to aid the Bureau in hunting MogPro supporters. Because of their history and respect for one another, the boy quickly grew fond of being around the woman. Killing alongside her, however, still made him uneasy.

"John, you okay?"

"I'm fine," he replies curtly. "Just—let's just get rid of it."

She nods, and he proceeds to hoist the bag over his shoulder—his strength and stamina are still superior to the average human's. They leave the alleyway behind and walk into a nearby warehouse. It is a filthy place, smells of mildew and dust, like most old buildings in Detroit. However, the boy cannot shake the nostalgia of a different warehouse in a different city just a few hundred miles away. A time when his friends had separated once again, just after they had a time of peace. When his newfound ally and, soon after, friend, had chosen to attack his own home so they could push ahead in their war.

He drops the body bag in the middle of the empty warehouse, and uses his powers to set it alight. The two agents watch it burn, a seventeen year-old boy and a forty-seven year-old woman, a woman that the boy has grown to think of, yet never openly mention, as if she was his own mother. She covers her nose at the stench of melting flesh. The boy watches it burn, emotionless. He is desensitized to the sound and smell of the flames destroying his enemies.

* * *

Lightning flashes outside. It's a random storm, one that the raven-haired girl cannot fully control. Or at least, not right now. The storm is subtle and stops almost immediately. She runs her trembling hands through his shaggy mop of blond hair. He lifts his head from the source of her abrupt lightning storm, the boy's hazel eyes watching her amorously. The girl feels his short, torrid breaths tickling her thighs.

She lets the boy go and props herself up on her elbows to see him. Before she can even finish the thought, the boy rises from beneath her and crawls atop the raven-haired girl. His hand meets the side of her face as he leans down to greet her lips with his. Her hands explore his frame again, one of them meeting the side of his face as the other journeys down his front. She passes his torso and manages to find something new, something exceptionally warmer than the rest of him.

The boy's body tenses, his hips bucking forward. Unlike their other previous encounters, he is not expecting this approach from her. She knows how he so easily anticipates her desires, how the boy can almost reach into her head and pluck the thoughts from the orchard of her mind. The blooming of a new ability, a new Legacy. He refuses to share it with her, more focused on practicing with the new gift in this way. She doesn't mind. In fact, she enjoys being free of schooling him on his powers. He appreciates this, too.

He appreciates it _very_ much.

The raven-haired girl can hear him telepathically mulling around in her mind milliseconds before he puts himself within her. She drops this connection from the touch of his skin against hers, the gentle feeling of his blond hair grazing her face. His hands travel her as well, stopping—along her shoulder blades, beneath her breasts, down the sides of her slender waist—where he can sense are spots that drive her insane. The boy is steady and rhythmic, studying her with great care, as if she were a battlefield. As if they were still in _war_.

He pulls her to him, once again breaking her train of thought. The girl hooks her legs around his waist. She lets her hands drift back up, one of them now running through her long hair. Her other hand grips his shoulder. A brief flush of red appears on his cheeks before quickly dissipating. She knows that he loves seeing her this way, despite how much it embarrasses him. To hide his smile, he leans down to the side of her neck, his teeth grazing the soft flesh there. The raven-haired girl bites her lip in response, struggling to keep herself from releasing a more intense storm than before. However, both of them will reach their limit soon.

On her shoulder blade, she can hear him whisper her name into her skin.

But it's not the name she has chosen.

It's the number she was cursed with.

* * *

The gate slams closed, the metal can be heard clanging together even this deep into the forest. It's not exactly the best gate they could have built out here. But it does the job. It keeps people safe. She jolts awake to the sound, a thirty-eight year-old woman who miraculously made it to Earth, only to find herself alone less than a year after arriving. It should not bother her—almost fifteen years ago, she sat alone behind a different desk, on a different planet hundreds of lightyears away. Her feet clonk against the wooden surface as she sits up. The woman mutters an expletive under her breath and suddenly, a monitor on her desk soundlessly spark to life, responding to her voice.

"Username and passcode, please," the icy, feminine voice of her autonomous software greets her.

The woman _hates_ the way she programmed that operating system—yes, it's a computer system and with her skills, she can easily change it whenever she pleases, but it was too close to home for her. The voice, albeit cold and robotic, sounds so familiar to the woman. It sounds like her long dead friend. A voice she heard twelve years ago on her identity band, alerting her to the end of the world. Then, later, that voice speaking in hundreds of different languages while aboard an antique ship—a ship she had still failed to work up the courage to go and excavate from the desert. That voice, calling her name as the Mogadorians…

She looks at the digital clock in the corner of the monitor. **1:56 AM.** She needs to stop doing this, she realizes. The woman had lost track of how often she stayed late after work. She lived on campus, but not in her office. Protecting the Garde could have been done from home, like how it had been done for the past decade. Until the war finally died down. Because to her, that is all that happened. The war became quieter, less noticeable.

But it never ended.

Instead of logging on, she takes her white tablet from the table and walks over to the windows, looking out at the Academy while she checks on the whereabouts of the Garde. The woman had upgraded the tablet since it was returned—it could now track both Loric and Human Garde, and she had even managed to hack into the drones and warship in Alaska to watch over the Mogadorians.

Out of the corner of her eye, the woman notices movement outside. The sprawling campus is usually devoid of life this early in the morning. She notices the headlights of vehicles glowing past the massive redwoods. The woman sees the logo on the hood of the first truck with her naturally enhanced sight. Earth Garde. On the side of the truck reads the slogan: YOU ARE THE BRAVE NEW WORLD.

 _The Academy opens tomorrow,_ she realizes, however, part of her knows it will be different than what they expected.


	2. Orientation

"What up," I say, earning laughs from some of the Garde. It's the same joke I used in our telepathic summit that Ella created for us a year and a half ago. I'm happy to finally see all of them in person, without that giant asshole Setrákus Ra interrupting every damn second.

I just wish I had, you know, both my _fucking arms._

Lexa and Marina glance at each other, clearly wanting me to say something more substantive. Before they can interject, I change my demeanor.

"I'm Number Nine," I introduce myself. "I am a professor here, and I am a Loric Garde. You will all address me as Professor or Mr. Worthington."

Marina snorts at my alias, rolling her eyes. I shoot her a thumbs up before continuing. "All of you are here because you all have developed Legacies. You're some Legacy-augmented, oh wait, sorry, _afflicted_ ," I give one of the Peacekeepers on the catwalk a quick, withering glare, and he looks away hurriedly, "native earthlings. Many of you probably fought on VH Day, some of you probably lost people you care about."

My eyes wander to some of the Human Garde I've known—Daniela, Ran, Caleb, Nigel, McCarthy, some orphaned LANEs I've watched over for the past year—before getting back to my improvised speech.

"In case you're wondering, you're not here to have your powers tamed and controlled. You're here to expand, to progress. You are the defenders of Earth now."

Marina clears her throat, raising an eyebrow to me. I guess she thinks that isn't the end of my speech, or doesn't think it should be. I give her a look, before letting Malcolm take the lead. If she thinks I'm gonna say any of that _brave new world_ crack that the humans have been smoking _so much_ of, she can forget it. Ironically, my eyes meet Melanie's, whom is sitting near the front row. She smiles at me, and I manage a tiny grin before I look away.

"Hi, my name is Malcolm Goode," I notice Malcolm's eyes are scanning the rows too. Looking for Sam, no doubt, even though he knows that his son is still out 'traveling' with Six. "I am the dean here at the Academy. While I am human, I have trained Garde before."

I realize that Malcolm isn't talking about me or the others. Hell, he isn't even talking about Sam. The first Garde he ever actually trained was Adam. The past few months must have really been hell for him—his adoptive son can't even be here to help train the new Garde. I didn't always trust Adam, but he was still one of us. I start to feel something close to guilt when I think about Adam and Rex, forced to live the rest of their lives in Alaska.

My sympathy disintegrates into an annoyed sigh when I hear Malcolm tell the LANEs, "You are the brave new world."

Marina introduces herself afterward, and I try my best to muffle my laughter when she calls herself Marina _Smith_ —she decided to help me teach the Garde here, since Johnny was too much of a pussy to join. When Marina is finished, Malcolm recites some high school code of conduct bullshit that my mind barely registers. Twenty minutes after that nonsense, Lexa explains the absolute safety of the Academy to the Garde.

Then, all the little LANEs disperse for lunch. This gymnasium was designed like the Lecture Hall, with Malcolm and Lexa pitching in to help me build it. Lexa disappears to go hack something once the room is empty, leaving only Marina and me.

"So, Ms. Smith," I say to Marina—I know that she and Johnny didn't really work out, but I still tease her for it anyway, "how things been?"

"Things have been great, _Stanley_ ," she replies, grinning. "Since when do you use your alter ego?"

"Since Sam finally renamed his cat."

Marina laughs at this. "Right. How is he, by the way? I haven't seen Six or Sam since we left Niagara Falls."

After the West Virginia base was obliterated, we stayed in the Canadian Special Ops camp for a week to rest up. John, Adam, and I were the ones who needed most of the recovery. Plus, Six wasn't doing so well. It took over half a day for Adam to stop clutching his dead Chimæra's body. I was in shock after losing my arm. But seeing John like that—broken, bloody, almost unidentifiable—was enough to make me start talking again. Pushing these old, dark thoughts aside, I pick up a basketball from a rack and begin to dribble it.

"Don't know," I reply, making a one-armed shoot into the hoop. "Sam used to call, but it's been a few weeks since I heard from him."

"Do you think he's okay?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't worry. He's probably just enjoying his free time with Six," I wiggle my eyebrows. "By the way, how's Johnny Hero doing?"

"He joined the FBI," before I can freak the hell out, Marina explains. "Well, he volunteered to help Agent Walker hunt down some surviving MogPro loyalists."

"MogPro," I growl as I use my telekinesis to return the ball to the rack. "Thought we were done with those assholes."

"I thought so, too," Marina replies. "But they're out there."

"So, Johnny's teamed up with Karen. What, she his mom now?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"Well, what about you?" I ask. "That week after VH Day, you disappeared just like Johnny."

She hesitates, clearly not wanting to tell me what she's been doing for the past year and a half. "I went looking for something I shouldn't have."

"Don't know what that means," I counter. "I mean, where did you go when you left?"

"Back to Chicago," Marina finally says. "I stayed there for a couple of months."

"Alone?"

"No, well, not the entire time," she says. "Adam showed up about half a month after I got there."

Adam stayed in Paradise with Malcolm and Sam, until he and Rex started awaiting trial for "crimes against humanity." Rex was stuck under house arrest somewhere in Virginia. While the EGP decided what to do with the other Mogadorians, Adam wandered around New England. I remember something about an assimilation project.

It didn't work out.

I know for a fact that the Mogs are doing okay in Alaska, relatively speaking, but people are still uneasy about them being up there. Especially after warship _Amon_ slowed to a stop over the prison camp four months ago.

Marina looks away, and I know there's more to the story than what she wants me to know. I don't keep pushing, so I turn to the door. "Well, I'm gonna go get something to eat."

"Nine, you know you're a professor, right?" Marina calls. I nod, obviously. "So you won't do anything stupid?"

"Define 'stupid.'"

"Just—I…okay," she gives up, shaking her head.

* * *

"Ugh, this is bloody disgusting," says Nigel Rally Barnaby, peering down at the frothy, blue-green protein shake on his lunch tray. He just sat down, finally free from the massive line. The cafeteria here is huge. Dozens of round tables dot the massive room, the floor marked with Loric symbols. Modeled from the Academy that the aliens had back on Lorien, no doubt. It's the first day, the whole room is buzzing with different conversations. Nigel takes another quick sip of the fluid before gagging, setting the glass down. "It's like I'm drinking—"

"Okay! We get it," another kid, one of the orphaned Garde, cuts him off. Before Nigel can respond, the kid gets a mischievous grin on his face. "How do you even how that tastes?"

"It's a figure of speech, Jake," Nigel protests. "Why the hell do we have to drink this shit?"

"Drinking this _shit_ is supposed to prepare our bodies for honing our Legacies," I explain. "Think of it as…alien gatorade. Besides, it's not that bad."

"No, _this_ is not that bad, Caleb," counters Jake McCarthy, holding up a blue-colored flurrah roll to me. "Why couldn't we have had this all our lives?"

Flurrah is a type of grain that first started budding when the Loralite Stones erected from the earth. The EGP noticed it growing wild in Rub' al Khali, the Empty Quarter—it's not so empty anymore, however. The whole desert is now a kindling plain. Since then, flurrah's been domesticated in different Ag Colonies around the world, including the Sahara and the Gobi deserts, and even the Australian outback. No one knows why this sudden change in the ecosystem happened, especially after the nuclear fallout from the bombs in China, Pakistan, and North Korea. But the EGP believes that the awakening of Lorien is the catalyst.

"Guess we had to wait for John Smith of Mars to show up," a new voice joins our conversation. I turn to see Daniela Morales and Ran Takeda take a seat at our table. "Been a long-ass time since I've seen you guys."

"Oy! Medusa!" shouts Nigel.

Daniela rolls her eyes. "Yeah, and you better remember it."

Ran sits down in front of Nigel, and Daniela takes the seat between me and Jake. While Daniela begins to tell anecdotes about her time in Earth Garde, I scan the room for Melanie, President Jackson's daughter. Over a year ago, Melanie was, and still is, the face of Earth Garde. Being slightly older than several of us, she was there when the rescue parties began to scour New York for survivors, and fought in the battles against the vat-born. I guess that's just an extensive way of saying she's pretty amazing.

"Looking for somebody, Crane?" Daniela nudges me with her elbow.

"Huh?" I ask. "Uh, no. Just—"

"Just daydreaming about POTUS's daughter," Jake mutters, his mouth full of flurrah bread.

"I was not!" I protest. As far as I'm concerned, Jake isn't telepathic. So there's no real way he knows what I was thinking. I'm not even attracted to her in the way he thinks.

"Hey, man, I'm not judging. She might be stuck up, but she's hot. I mean, she's not as badass as Neo Zachry, but…"

I try to do my best to keep my face from turning red, but I doubt I'm accomplishing anything. Daniela pats me on the shoulder.

"Hey, leave the Gemini alone," she defends me, a sly grin forming on her face. "He can't help it if he's missing his friends."

I roll my eyes, annoyed. Still, I'm grateful that she stopped their joking.

"Speaking of which," Daniela continues, "where's Sam?"

Sam Goode, one of the first recognized LANEs, is the only one of us who is registered but isn't here. There are three hundred sixty-four Human Garde checked into the Academy, from almost every country involved in Earth Garde. But Sam is somehow off the grid.

"Oh, Sam's off honeymooning with Six," Nigel replies, grinning at Ran. "Don't know when he'll show up here."

"If he ever shows up," suggests Jake. "After all the craziness we've seen, I wouldn't blame him for wanting to stay in poundtown a little longer."

Daniela stares him down and, for a moment, her eyes go silver.

"What?" asks Jake, smiling. "It's true!"

I smirk and proceed to finish my lunch. Still, it's pretty risky for Sam to be out in the world right now. Even though we won back the planet, we still lost the world we knew. Following VH Day, there was the civil war in Brazil—which is still kind of a problem today—and the moderate radiation poisoning from the bombs in India. Sure, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict had calmed down, and there haven't been any _major_ extremist attacks in over a year. However, MogPro is still alive. They've regrouped somewhere in Canada, in secluded parts of Europe, and who knows where else. The Earth Garde Peacekeepers have been hunting them down, but we just don't know how many are out there.

And if they got their hands on a Garde, and continued where Setrákus Ra left off in his lunatic experiments… After all, he mentioned that humans were better hosts for the Augmentations, whatever that means. That probably won't happen, however. All of us LANEs are here, and the Loric can defend themselves. Sam's probably safer with Number Six than clustered in here with us.

* * *

I catch a glimpse of Mel zipping up her dress, and I start to think about what Marina meant when she told me not to do anything stupid. This probably qualifies. I know it's moronic, and currently I'm pretty sure what Mel and I have been doing might be considered illegal. Malcolm would probably kill me if he found out I was sleeping with the president's daughter.

But this has been going on for a long-ass time.

"Thanks for that," Mel says, grinning at me before she goes to the door. Originally, the design for my office was intended to resemble Sandor's workshop. But when the EGP told me where we were building the Academy—in the middle of the redwoods—I changed my mind. Last minute, of course.

The bookshelves in this office were carved from the wood of a fallen tree. I've equipped the wooden desk with Loric data pads that Lexa snagged from the Terrax Cruiser. Yesterday, Lexa helped me switch out that cold metal desk for this wooden one. It was too much metal for me. I'm not usually one for interior decorating, but the metal surfaces I had planned before only reminded me of that year-long, claustrophobic trip in our premier spacecraft.

As Mel prepares to exit for the door, I call for her. "We can't tell anyone about this."

She turns and raises a sparse, dark eyebrow at me. "Nine, this isn't new to me. I haven't said anything before, have I?"

"I know, I just—the stakes are higher now," I explain. "This isn't like sending in rescue teams."

"You're worried that some of the Garde are going to find out," Mel finally realizes, walking back over to me. "Trust me, that won't happen."

"You can't know for sure."

"I'm being deployed tomorrow, pretty sure my sex life's the last thing on anyone's mind."

She's right. Immediately signing up for Earth Garde after the war, Mel deploys into missions across the world sporadically, rarely ever being here. This one is classified even to me, which is ridiculous. On top of that, Mel has only developed three Legacies in the past year and a half, but they're pretty impressive. The most recent one, Oppilex, is the ability to mentally barricade herself. She can't be intruded by a Garde with Telepathy, Mind Control, Sensior, or any other mentally-based Legacy. The one she developed after telekinesis, Fortem, I think was of my doing.

"Besides…," she touches her hand to the side of my face, "you trust me, right?"

Part of me is obviously screaming _no!_ after everything that's happened to the people I care about. But the other part of me wants to believe that all of this is over, that my friends and family won't get killed in the same horrendous way that Sandor was, that Maddy was. Even before Mel and I started hooking up, it was still difficult for me to get close to people.

After a few moments, I give Mel a barely audible, "Yes."

She nods, and then rubs her hand through my long black hair. I guess she's found a way to change the subject. "Your hair's gotten really long."

"Don't even start," I say, grasping my one hand over hers. "This, is never getting taken off."

"I thought the Peacekeepers would make you cut it."

"Yeah, so did Lexa. And John, and Malcolm, and Marina, and—"

Mel eventually sighs and walks over to a bookshelf, understanding what I'm getting at. When we first met face-to-face, my hair—which was mostly ripped out by Setrákus Ra in the West Virginia base—was about chin-length. I felt so weak without it, like that story from a human religion. The guy who got his strength from his hair. I don't remember his name.

Besides, Mogadorian warriors wear their long as a sign of strength (not that I'm comparing myself to a Mogadorian). They're like Dothraki, these conquerors I read about in one of the many books I have here. There must be a few hundred books here in all, albeit I've only read about half a dozen of them. _A Game of Thrones_ was probably the most hardcore out of all of them. Mel pulls free a book from the bookshelf nearest to the door. The title reads _Divergent_. I haven't read it, but I think I remember seeing it in a café somewhere, not that long after VH Day. Johnny rolled his eyes when he saw it in my bookshelf last time he was here. I don't know if he's read it, but he said it had something to do with the number 'four,' so who knows. It's one of those teen books that humans love to read.

"You mind if I borrow this?" asks Mel. "I haven't read the sequel yet, and I want to catch up."

"Sure, go ahead," I reply, thinking about how she's possibly going to get the next book, since we're kind of sealed in here.

Then she slips out of the door. I swivel my rolling chair to the massive windows overlooking the campus. While today was just orientation, I think that everything's fitting together beautifully. There are three hundred sixty-four Human Garde here. Obviously the originally Defense Academy, the one built back on Lorien, contained more than just under four hundred people. But this'll have to do for now.

One day, these Garde will have full mastery over their Legacies. It may take years—the plan is to have the Human Garde live here until they're twenty-five, when it's safe for them to defend humanity—but it'll work out. And then Lorien is going to fully possess this planet, rise from the ashes like the Phoenix Stones we committed to the Earth. The Loric people may disappear along the way, but that's something I'm okay with now. We made our mark on this messed-up this world. We _changed_ this world.

I mean, _damn_ , just look at how far we've come.

Unfortunately, my thoughts are interrupted by a knock at my office door. I open it with my mind, and hear the heavy footsteps of Peacekeepers entering. With my heightened hearing, I recognize General Lawson's footsteps immediately. I turn toward them, six Peacekeepers acting as bodyguards for Lawson standing in the center. They're like a scene out of _The Hunger Games_. I mean the book obviously, which was great, not the shaky-cam CGI movie.

"Howdy, Clarence," I say, "what can I do you for?"

He smiles calmly. "My, my, you're making friends fast."

My mouth goes dry, and I instantly think that he's talking about Melanie. "How did you—?"

"I've been reading some reviews that have gone up about the progress of the Academy," he says. "I'm impressed."

"Oh," I relax, but I'm still confused. "Reviews? Already? It's only been a day."

"That may be, but some of my boys have jobs to do here."

I lean forward in my chair, sizing him up. "Are you talking about your Peacekeepers? Or are you talking about your sibling's boy?"

Lawson doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. I don't have to be a genius to know he's referring to Caleb, the only LANE here who's working directly with the recovering United States government. He's also Lawson's nephew and one of the very few Garde who signed the oath to the EGP. Not exactly a coincidence. That's what Lawson's here for, no doubt.

"I'm not here on entirely friendly terms, Mr. Worthington," while Lawson says this, I watch the Peacekeepers at the door, assessing how easily I could take them. If I had both my arms, I could finish them off no problem. I still have my speed and strength, but I have a weakness now—I can only take out enemies one at a time. Actually, that's not entirely true. I could always use my major Legacy; it was developed less than a month after VH Day, and it's pretty damn powerful. "I was here to ask if you could convince the LANEs to sign the oath to the Earth Garde Peacekeepers."

"Nope."

"It's important that other nations are aware that these youths will be on our side once the world needs them."

"Right, because all these kids, dozens whom lost their families on VH Day, are definitely gonna go running into the welcoming arms of the Mogadorian colonies when they show up."

Lawson stares at me. "When?"

"What?"

"You said 'when,' not 'if,' these other colonies of hostiles find Earth."

After the EGP sent the Mogs to Alaska, and after the _Amon_ docked there, the problem of the other Mog colonies retaliating always been an issue. According to Adam, Rex, and a few others, there are five other worlds we need to worry about. With Setrákus Ra dead, they're probably out there killing one another. But if they find that Earth is a sanctuary that could support all of their populations, we'd have to worry about more than just another few dozen Mogadorian warships—each of these colonies have been living independently for the past century. Who knows what new technologies they'd hit us with?

"I'm not saying that I think they'll show up next month or something," I say to Lawson. "I wasn't even saying they'll show up _at all._ I was exaggerating the fact that these kids have been through enough. I doubt the LANEs are going to be against Earth Garde."

"I believe in ya, son," Lawson finally says. "Still, I'd like for those oaths to be sent in by the beginning of next year."

 _Like hell, douche-bag._ "Sure."

He stands, the Peacekeepers snapping to attention in unison. Instead of walking out the door, he walks over to my desk.

"Oh, I almost forgot," mutters Lawson, and I feel his eyes staring at my stump. "There's a new project that Earth Garde is starting up, and I thought you'd be interested in it."

I stare at him blankly.

Lawson reaches his hand out, waiting for me to shake it. "What if we could get you a new arm?"


	3. Scars

**Author's Note: Many of you may know me from my other story _The Quest of One,_ which was released 3 years ago. I would've continued writing there, but I had a lot of things I wanted to change. However, my account was acting weird and wouldn't allow me to publish anything new. So I'm actually about to start writing more fanfictions here. I hope you enjoy this chapter of _Numbers._ If you were reading it on Wattpad or AO3, you may notice the formatting here is a bit different.**

"Okay, I've got this all figured out," says the zealous Garde sitting in the passenger seat next to me. "We hit the Academy, meet up with Nine and Marina, maybe I'll give some kind of speech to the HGs, maybe upgrade on some Legacies..."

This is the first time in... I think ever... that I've heard John say more than a few words to anyone. That's including me, and I'm his partner. I guess since it's opening day at the Academy, and our MogPro kill list has just been halved, John is in better spirits than the sulking teenager I've had to mother for a while. Which, considering our past, hasn't been all too difficult.

"Maybe we can swing by the beach and surf," John continues his San Francisco bucket list. I wonder how long he's been holding this in—it was a five-hour flight down here. "I haven't been surfing in two years. Can you believe that?"

"I believe it," I reply quietly, knowing damn well why he had to leave Florida, and what my associates had to do with it. _So it's my turn to be the quiet one now._ "You know that once we leave here we'll have to get back on the job."

"Yeah, I know," he slouches back in the seat a bit, the animated boy I don't think I've ever seen before, starting to evaporate. "Can you believe that we're almost done?"

"Well, seeing as it took me about a year to put a bullet in half the names on that first page, I don't think we're anywhere close to being finished."

"Well," John says in a mocking tone, "seeing as I'm about to get a myriad of new Legacies, I'd say things are looking _great_."

"Right," I sigh quietly, placing my elbow on the window to my left. We're driving to the Human Garde Academy, zipping by prodigious sequoias on either side of the solitary road. The trees cast massive shadows over us, interrupted by burning rays of the setting sun. This was was what I expected after Victory Humanity Day—watching the sun fall beyond the ocean, sipping a beer with my nephew—not a year and a half later with a depressed alien teenager. Someday we'll be able to enjoy things like this without holding our heads above the sea of death we swim in.

"Something on your mind?" asks John.

"I just don't think it's a good idea for you to be powering up on so many Legacies so quickly."

"So... do you think it's better to fight MogPro with the limited arsenal I have? Or maybe we should just go up against the Foundation naked. You think that's a good idea?"

"Do I think it's healthier than loading up on abilities you've never seen or experienced before? Yes, I do."

"The Elders gave me these Legacies because they _knew_ I'd need to use them to protect people," John scoffs. "I doubt that it'd interfere with my health."

"You told me that your Legacies came from Lorien. Meaning they're a natural trait. So doesn't that mean that some of them might be considered defects?"

"I was born to have Ximic. Just like Six was born to have invisibility—Novis, I mean."

"Are you sure about that?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean are you sure you were born to develop certain Legacies?"

John throws his hands up in frustration and leans back in his seat, turning to watch the redwoods zip by us. After a while he starts to drum his fingers on his armrest to the music on the radio. Just when I think I've lost him again, he begins, "Ever since I could remember, I wanted to develop my Major Legacy and fight the Garde. And I get one of the most powerful there is. How do you explain that?"

"You once told me that you could never decide which Legacy you wanted more, right?" I ask. "You were always stuck hoping for shooting lasers out of your hands, but you also wanted your father's elemental thing—Sturma, isn't that it?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"So, maybe since you couldn't decide on what Legacy you wanted more, just mentally, you got one that could allow you to have all of them."

"What about my Anima, or Six's Novis?"

"Your dog was watching over you ever since you were born. Not that surprising you would have developed a Legacy so you could talk to him. A majority of Human Garde here still only have one Legacy other than telekinesis. Maybe they don't _need_ anymore. And Six was locked away in a Mogadorian prison because she couldn't hide in plain sight. What better Legacy to have than one that will literally allow you to be in plain sight of everyone but not be seen?"

"Alright, alright," he says slowly, this topic getting interesting to him. "What about Adam's Legacy of Terric?"

I pause, think about it for a moment. So far, John's managed to mimic every Legacy of the surviving Loric except for Number Five's Externa, Marina's Submari and Noxen, any of Eight's, and above all Adam's Terric.

He continues his rant as the road widens out. "Because I've been right next to that guy almost half a dozen times and no dice. No shockwaves blasting from my hands, no earthquakes when I stomp on the ground," John pauses, watching the behemoth of the Academy's gate come into view. "Hell, first place I'd use Terric on would be here."

The gate to the HGA is a thick, ten foot high fence made from iridium. Barbed wire sewn through on either side of two guard towers containing heavily armed Peacekeepers. Not the prettiest appearance if you're driving up here for the first time. I wonder how the Human Garde reacted when their helicopters and buses arrived at this fence, what they thought was on the other side of those gate doors sliding open. I drive us up to the checkpoint where a young Peacekeeper, wearing an azure beret, takes our IDs.

"What's your business here?" the Peacekeeper asks me, dark eyes scowling at me. It doesn't look like he's about to open the gate—until he sees John. "Oh, sorry Mr. Smith. We didn't know you were visiting."

"Next time you see one of us, you'll open this gate without question, yeah?" asks John.

"Of course," grovels the Peacekeeper. "It's just General Lawson never mentioned visitors from the Bureau."

"Lawson's here?" I ask.

The Peacekeeper looks at me hesitantly, but answers anyway. "He left nearly two hours ago."

"Thank you," John waves the guy away as the gate opens. Once we're through, he looks back and mutters, "asshole."

"Thanks back there, Smith."

"Would he have let you through if I wasn't here?"

"John, once a traitor—"

"Don't fucking say it," he rolls his eyes and we park in the closest space before the sprawling campus. John's cobalt blue eyes light up when he steps out of the car. "Wow."

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing, I... I just wonder if I'd have gone to a place like this back on Lorien."

* * *

As we walk to the massive lobby, I notice a familiar distant look on John's face, followed by his left hand reaching up under his bandana to his faded, scarred neck.

"Stop that," I snap. "Picking at it will just make it worse."

He quickly lowers his hand and shoves it in his jacket pocket, like he's trying to hide what he was doing. "Sorry."

Inside, we're greeted by the prodigious poster of Melanie Jackson in a red, white, and blue rubber suit that John tells me is a hideous glorification of what the Garde used to wear on his home world. She holds a stack of debris in one hand, her face strained in concentration, as a mother clutching her children runs free from where she was 'trapped.'

"It reminds me of a story in Buenos Aires a couple years ago," says John. "Did you hear about that?"

I nod awkwardly, remembering a report on a failed contact with targets in South America some time late in 2010. We're silent for a moment. This always happens when one of us brings up something about the Mogadorians, especially something that I have contributed to.

"Which way is Nine's office?" I ask.

He starts speed-walking down halls. I try to follow close behind, but it's kind of hard to keep up with a kid who has superhuman speed. The deeper into the Academy we go, the more kids we see: Human Garde carrying duffel bags and suitcases into different rooms. Some of them—hell, most of them—notice John as we travel the halls, waving and shouting as he passes by.

"Holy shit, it's John Smith!"

"Oh my god, John Smith's here?"

"Oy, Smith!" one kid, with short blond hair and a denim vest walks up and hugs John. He's flanked by a thin Japanese girl. I remember these two kids from Patience Creek, part of a larger group that teleported to the Niagara Falls Outcropping. When Number Six found them, these kids were a group of four, but…

John smiles when he pulls away. "It's good to see you again, Nigel."

"Where the hell have you been, mate?"

"Here and there. Looks like you're doing pretty well yourself. Are Caleb and Daniela here?"

"Yeah, saw 'em at lunch," Nigel says. "My roommate would flip his shit if he saw you."

The girl looks at John curiously, before asking in perfect English, "You're staying here too?"

"Sorry, Ran, just visiting for the week," he seems a bit taken aback by her speaking English, if at all. I don't remember her saying more than a few words to anybody back at Patience Creek. Her dossier included something about the initial bombing in Tokyo, but the details are vague. "Hey, I gotta go, but good luck here, guys!"

John dismisses the two Garde and we push on toward Nine's office. There are some faces here that I remember well from our debriefing after VH Day. Some of them a bit more disturbing than others. Among these faces, scarred physically and emotionally, is Millicent Crawford. She was captured by a Mogadorian raid in Madison, Wisconsin four days before the Earth Garde counterattack. She's one of only eight Garde who survived Setrákus Ra's Legacy extraction and augmentation procedures in Hawks Nest. She was never interviewed, wasn't taken in early by the Academy—needless to say no one really knows how she's taking it. Now, she swiftly carries a black trash bag through the door to her dorm room. Albeit most of the rooming here appears to be co-ed, Crawford is the first person I see enter the room and closes the door behind her.

"All these kids," John mutters. "There would have been more of them if I'd been strong enough to kill Setrákus Ra in Dulce."

"There was nothing you could have done," I tell him, and hope that what I'm saying is true. "What happened to the kids in Russia, that isn't on you."

"I know, but it still pisses me off."

"We'll talk about it later."

Malcolm Goode greets us at the door to Nine's office and pulls John into a fatherly embrace. I return the same curt nod that Goode gives me. I know that Malcolm is not the biggest fan of me, due to everything I allowed to happen to his son in Hawks Nest. In truth, the only person in Earth Garde who actually trusts me is John. And albeit Malcolm holds the office door for me like a gentleman, I know there's no care or friendship there.

Almost two years ago, it's possible that one of the rounds from his sniper rifle would have found its way into my skull if he got the chance.

Nine is leaned back in his chair as he talks to Seven, the crazy ice girl, if I remember correctly. Also an independent artist in Chicago a few months after the war. In her hands, she holds a sketchbook and is drawing vigorously as Nine drones about his day.

"Interrupting something?" asks John, motioning to the two Loric.

"Ignore them, they've been at this ever since Lawson left," a familiar voice tells him. Lexa towers over us both and pulls John into a hug. "Nine thinks he's having another premonition."

John sighs loudly, folding his arms across his chest. "This again?"

He finally catches Nine's attention, the latter embracing John with his one arm within the second it took for him to stand up. Even without both arms, Nine gives off an intimidating presence. He holds John out in front of him, face suddenly dire. "Johnny, what's this shit I hear about you joining the FBI?"

"Dude," John attempts to start. "I'm just being in motion, in control of where I am and when I'm going there, right?"

"What idiot told you that?"

"You did."

"Oh," Nine pulls away, then looks at me. "And you used my brotherly advice in your job application to the Bureau of trench coats? Amazing. Hey, Walker."

"Nine," I reply. John would hate me if he knew I thought this, but I feel like Nine being up here crippled and retired is a good thing. He's not hurting anybody if he's teaching the LANEs how to use their Legacies. To me, it is a safe way of keeping Nine from growing restless and unstable like he has been in the past.

After John and Marina exchange a slightly awkward greeting, she asks where Ella, John's adoptive sister is.

"Ella thought it would be creepy just to drop in on everyone," he answers. Having to catch up with your friends whom you already know the thoughts of _would_ be a little weird. "She's staying with her friend Ramila."

"One of Sharma's army boys?"

"A girl from her school," Marina answers for John. "So do you want to tell him, or should I?"

"Oh shit, you're right," stutters Nine, gesturing for John to sit down beside him. I lean against a wall opposite Nine so the larger Garde doesn't get spooked. "You probably know this by now, but Lawson came by today."

"Yeah, sentinel at the gate told us."

"He wanted me to sign off the rest of the newbies to the military by the end of the year, the ones under eighteen?" he explains, earning a sarcastic chuckle from John. "So, uh, now would be a great time for some Johnny Hero advice."

"You want me to tell you what you should do?" asks John. "I say stall the hell out of that guy, but I'm not the dean here. Malcolm?"

The older man shrugs. "I wouldn't trust it. All that it seemed Lawson was interested in was turning the Garde into weapons. Told me and the president some bullshit about how 'the faster you can get a leash on them, the better things will be in the long run.'"

"That's what I was thinking, too," Nine continues. "He's a slippery bitch, John. The asshole said he could get me a new arm."

"In exchange for what?" Lexa exclaims, finally looking up from her tablet that she has been multitasking on for the past few minutes.

"He never came out to say in exchange for the oaths, but basically that's what's happening. They have the tech to build it, I just need to sign over the HGs."

Goode makes way to leave, either because he's tired or because he is actually getting annoyed with the Lawson talk. I wave at him as he leaves, but he doesn't pay attention.

"Damn, sorry about that, man," John replies.

Nine actually grins, shrugging off John's apology. "Don't be, man. I'm _getting that arm._ "

"But I thought you said—"

"I know, but that arm?" he pats his stump. "It's getting on this guy."

"Didn't you have a prosthetic?" I ask. "Is one of your premonitions that you're getting a new one?"

He turns in his chair to stare at me. "Hell. Yes. All of you, just wait and see."

"I wish your Legacy was useful for more important matters, like finding out if the 49ers are in the Super Bowl."

"Pssh, as if," he says.

"Alright, well, I'm exhausted," Marina says, collecting her sketchbook and heading for the door. "I'll see all of you tomorrow."

Nine throws up a peace sign as she leaves, and she gives one back over her shoulder.

"Goodnight," says John, finally, even though Marina is already out the door. John nudges Nine in his seat. "How is she getting off campus this late?"

"We have townhouses for the staff nearby," Nine watches John for a moment. "What, you trying to hook up with some Spanish Inquisition?"

"Nine, what the hell, I was just asking where she was going! Do you even know what the Spanish Inquisition is?" he exclaims. "Anyway, as far as I know, Marina doesn't have a car."

"Oh. Well, uh, she takes care of Adam's bike now. It's a beautiful peace of work, dude. Shame he can't bring it up there with him, but I guess snowmobiles are his new motorcycles, am I right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," John slouches in his chair as the conversation stalls, and I notice his hand slowly crawling up his neck toward his scar, but I don't stop him. He only does it when he's stressed or nervous, and maybe talking to Nine will distract him long enough. A buzz comes from my pocket, and I check my phone to see that there's been a location added to the MogPro hunt.

Santa Monica, California. I know John wants to stay here for a couple of days—we could make it back here tomorrow night. Just as I'm about to tell John we need to head out Nine clasps John's arm.

"John, there's something else I saw in a premonition."

"Please be the 49ers," I kid, but Nine doesn't laugh. His face is forbearing and, for the first time I've ever seen from him, he looks almost serene.

"There's something coming, man. After the _Amon_ came down, I got this feeling. And get this—it was something I hadn't felt since I shot that first Mog in Chicago. War's coming."

"I doubt Adam would allow that to happen," John says. "Besides, most of the prisoners on the reservation are refugees who are more worried about."

"I'm not talking about the Mogadorians," Nine takes a deep breath. "I don't know who we'll be fighting, or when, but this peace we're in? It's not gonna last."

 **Story Fact: John is using a quote from Chapter 12 in _The Rise of Nine,_ while Nine is quoting Lawson from _Last Defense_. In _Hunt for the Garde_ , the girl who Üshaba captures last is Millie. After reading the excerpt of _Generation One,_ I made a few edits to characters, which are also in the last chapter.**

 **I hoped you guys enjoyed reading this chapter. Due to new info from _Gen One,_ I am changing a few edits, such as only about 400 Garde at the Academy, and Ran's backstory. It won't take too long for the next one to come out. And in a little while, you'll be getting at least 2 new stories on here. One of them inspired a horrifying story that is invading movie theaters on Valentine's Day, and the other one is the novelization of something that was _NOT_ at E3.**


End file.
